


Survivor

by electricblueninja



Series: Rise [7]
Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-09-12 01:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9050077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricblueninja/pseuds/electricblueninja





	1. Chapter 1

Mr Park, who claimed to be prepared to negotiate, did not respond well when Changmin spat in his eye.

 

 

Changmin could not pretend to be surprised by the response that this earned him.

 

 

His nose wasn’t broken, but he would definitely resemble a panda in a few hours. If they didn’t kill him first, that is.

 

 

Mr Park left for a while, and when he came back, it was to inform Changmin that the opportunity for negotiations had passed, and Changmin would instead have to be persuaded to assist them in finding Jung Yunho.

 

 

Changmin laughed harshly. ‘I’d like to know where he is too,’ he said. His voice came out hoarse: they had not given him water. On the bright side, that meant that he would not need to piss himself.

 

 

He didn’t know how long he’d been in here. It could have been an hour; it could have been six hours. It felt more like six, to the best of his ability to discern, but he was pretty sure that he had been concussed when he’d been abducted, and his awareness of time was a little hazy.

 

 

Time, though...It was funny to think that it had not been so very long ago when he’d first met Yunho. In the grand scheme of things.

 

 

Oh, how things had escalated.

 

 

 _What did you have to go falling in love for?_ a part of his subconscious demanded, and he physically recoiled from it, the handcuffs around his wrists clinking with the movement.

 

 

‘You don’t know where he is?’

 

 

Changmin shook his head, but it made the world spin, so he stopped. ‘No idea.’

 

 

Park studied him closely.

 

 

‘He’ll come back for you, though, won’t he,’ he said, suddenly.

 

 

Changmin barked another laugh. ‘Doubt it,’ he said, and looked beyond Park’s bland, unappealing face to the door, which stood open, taunting him with the present impossibility of freedom.

 

 

Only...as he looked, Yunho stepped into view. Stood there in the doorway, his broad frame filling the space. His injuries were bandaged, and his cast arm now in a sling.

 

 

His face was serious as his eyes locked with Changmin’s. Serious, and dark, and gentle.

 

 

Changmin made a strangled sound. ‘I think I’m hallucinating,’ he said, which prompted Park to turn, and a deep silence to fall.

 

 

‘I had to,’ Yunho said to Changmin. ‘You kept coming back for me. I tried to leave, but I couldn’t.’ He redirected his attention to Park. ‘I’ve come to settle the score.’

 

 

Park, it seemed, was every bit as stunned as Changmin by Yunho’s apparition.

 

 

‘You’re looking a little the worse for wear. Surely you don’t think you’re going to be able to hurt me, with one arm and no weapon? The guards will be here any moment. You couldn’t even fend off half of one of them in a state like that.’

 

 

‘Actually, Park…as much as I would like to kill you, that would be unprofessional. I guess I’ll just have to take satisfaction in bringing you bad news.’

 

 

Mr Park developed a small trough between his eyebrows.

 

 

Yunho stepped forward, smiling. He was self-possessed, and calm in a way that Changmin had not seen before.

 

 

Changmin had seen Yunho angry, and afraid, and also calm, but only as someone who was resigned to their fate. Now, despite looking distinctly the worse for wear, and having only one arm at his disposal, Yunho exuded the power of someone with the upper hand: a genuine calm.

 

 

‘He's got leverage, Park. By which I mean that the police received an anonymous tip-off about a cache of weaponry...’

 

 

Realisation dropped onto Park’s face like one of the shipping cartons that filled the warehouse, beyond the walls that enclosed them, and it was quickly followed by rage.

 

 

Park swore, his eyes overflowing with hatred as he glared at Yunho.

 

 

He reached for his gun, but Yunho, serene, stepped forward and grabbed the top of the barrel, redirecting the gunpoint to the ground.

 

 

‘I wouldn’t add murder to the charges against you,’ he said. ‘They’ve already got quite a lot of evidence. They’re also, well, uh, already here. Listening in right now. And it's going to have a pretty big impact on the Choi family's standing in the community. I don't think the head of house is going to be able to become mayor, now that they've been found out...’

 

 

You could have cut the silence with a knife.

 

 

It was disrupted only by the click of someone’s heels as they crossed the warehouse floor. It was the relaxed stride belonging to someone that Changmin knew well.

 

 

‘Not bad for a two-bit crook, hmm, Mr Park?’ said Kim Heechul, entering from behind Yunho.

 

 

His eyes fell on Changmin, and a depth-charge of anger was visible for a fleeting moment. Then, 'Oh. I see you have added battery to the abduction of my employee. That is unfortunate. For you.

 

 

'I'm not actually here, by the way. I never was. But ever since you paid that unannounced visit to my office, I've been dying to return the favour. And I do love being the one to dish all the dirt. So I thought I would come down in person.

 

 

'Mr Park , do you mind if I tell you a story?

 

 

'It's kind of a long story, but you're in it. In fact, you’re one of the main characters, so you might like it. And perhaps you can correct me if I get anything wrong. See, it’s taken quite a lot of effort for me to sew all the pieces of this patchwork together, but I think I’ve got a pretty full picture now.

 

 

‘Once upon a time, in the distant town of Mokpo, there was a promising young officer called Jung Yunho. He was a native of Gwangju, but he'd been posted over there after he got out of the police academy. A big guy; strong; looked remarkably like our, uh, what was it? Kim. That’s right, Kim. Our Kim Yunho right here. Striking similarity.

 

 

'Anyway, this young man was upstanding and principled. And because he believed in doing the right thing and protecting others from harm, he became a cop.

 

 

‘When he got wind of a racket—arms dealing—coordinated by some of his coworkers in the municipal police and some component of the military, he conducted an independent investigation into the matter. Showed great initiative, didn’t he, setting himself a task like that?

 

 

‘Now, like I said, this guy was a good kid. Very principled. And he was thorough in making his investigation. He didn’t want to go accusing people of anything without proof. So he collected all the supporting information he was able to on his own, and, concerned about the possibility of corruption among his immediate superiors, he took his case further up the line.

 

 

‘Unfortunately for him, the person he went to was either a part of the operation itself, or just unwilling to do anything about it. So he had to be gotten rid of, and they arranged his execution.

 

 

‘Isn’t it funny how the things that happen and the things that go down on paper can look so different? And isn’t it funny how sealed files can be unsealed, with friends in the right places? So we can find out that Jung Yunho handed over his dossier to someone he trusted, and they told him that they would help. But you get into yet another file, and it reveals that they set him up. They encouraged him to pursue the investigation, and gave him orders that would put him in an isolated situation where he could be executed, and gotten rid of.

 

 

‘Now, after I learned all of this, I suddenly remembered that story about that young man who, according to the news at the time, died on a boat. A few years ago now. In Mokpo. I remembered that his name was Jung Yunho. He was killed in the line of duty, they said. On duty, they said. But the funny thing was that he was just on a boat. With other cops. So...well, I think we can all draw our own conclusions from that.’

 

 

Heechul seemed to direct this statement to Changmin: he watched him closely with his lively, intelligent eyes before making a sweeping gesture and returning his attention to Park.

 

 

‘And now, here we are, in a warehouse full of weapons that you brought in and your friend Choi Sr, aspiring mayor of Gwangju City, would have assisted you in trading. Did I miss anything?

 

 

‘Yunho, did I miss anything?’

 

 

Dead silence as Yunho slowly shook his head.

 

 

The silence, Changmin realised, of an armed force encircling the building. Nothing else could create that particular kind of silence.

 

 

‘No? Well, then, Yunho, take his gun. He’ll have another somewhere on his person, I’m sure, but if you just hold that one against his temple—yes, that’ll do nicely—I’m sure he’ll be willing to get this young man in the corner to unlock my employee.’

 

 

Yunho’s eyes were vicious as he followed Heechul’s instructions; embellishing them with a sharp nudge to push Park to his knees on the ground.

 

 

Changmin got to his feet, forcing himself to be steady and take the steps over to Heechul, and trying to stay alert and ready to fight if need be, though he was sure that he was lucky that there was no need.

 

 

‘We’ll leave now,’ said Heechul, placidly. ‘We were never here. Oh, and...Pleasure doing business with you, Mr Park. If there was to be a next time, I would recommend that you don’t underestimate me again. But there won’t be a next time.

 

 

'You know, I've been thinking about a career change lately myself. Maybe I'll go into politics.

 

 

‘Anyway, I hope you and the would-be mayor Choi enjoy prison.’


	2. Chapter 2

'You can't kill a dead man.'

 

It was Mr Park who spoke, and there was death in his voice.

 

Changmin did not know how, but he knew exactly what was going to happen in the next few moments. It was probably intuition, not knowledge: he had seen desperate men before, and knew what they could do in the seconds they thought would be their last—that was the power of choosing to die.

 

Time slowed down even more than it had before. The concussion, or maybe just the madness of it all, made the seconds stretch out into what felt like hours.

 

Park spoke those words, and, because his tone was both homicidal and resigned, Changmin understood that this 'dead man' was not one, but two. It was Yunho (who was, bureaucratically speaking, dead), and it was also Park himself (because it would be better for a man like Park to be dead rather than imprisoned).

 

With his warning, just moments ago, Heechul had foreshadowed Park drawing another weapon.

 

If it was all true, Yunho was a cop. Yunho should have known to check the prisoner immediately for concealed weaponry.

 

Instead, as Changmin struggled to his feet and made his way to Heechul, Yunho—stupid, beautiful Yunho—had eyes only for Changmin.

 

It was Changmin who saw the glint of a knife in Park's hand, and that was when the laws of time and space ceased to apply.

 

It was all surreal.

 

Park, his face contorting with awful determination, threw his weight back. Yunho, caught off-guard, lost his balance, and the gun fell from his hand.

 

Changmin lunged forward.

 

He had not known that he could move so fast.

 

One gunshot.

 

No, two gunshots.

 

Changmin heard Yunho cry out; a heart-rending, incoherent expression of agony.

 

But Yunho was standing; he was safe. No blood. _Why did he make that sound?_

 

Heechul was holding a pistol. He had fired it, and Changmin felt it safe to assume that a lackey was dead. But Yunho was okay.

 

As Yunho looked down at him, a stricken expression on his face, Changmin suddenly felt it. The ice-bright glimmer of pain. A shard of it, emanating from the knife buried in his chest.

 

Park's hand was still attached to the handle of it.

 

_N_ _ow_ it was starting to hurt. Now he could feel it splitting his flesh apart.

 

As for the second gunshot, Changmin was holding the gun.

 

He'd pulled the trigger.

 

And he'd missed, because he supposed he had been meaning to shoot Park's fucking face off.

 

He'd missed, but there was a red stripe across Mr Park's cheek, which began to ooze bright blood as he watched.

 

The sound of his own voice, barely recognisable through his snarl and clenched teeth: ' _I won't miss again.'_

 

But he could see in Park's eyes that the other man did not care. He had given up, and that was his strength. He was not afraid. His eyes showed only hate. They said, _I will kill you._

 

Changmin would not be able pull the trigger again before the knife turned. The blade was already too deep. Shooting again would not save him. The best possible outcome was that they would both die.

 

Still, Changmin would rather himself dead than Yunho.

 

As his finger tightened infinitesimally on the trigger, his mind wandered, casting itself, as minds were wont to do, back over his life, and the sequence of events that were bringing him to this improbable end.

 

Had it all been worth it?

 

He looked up, and his eyes locked with Yunho's: wide and terrified.

 

Yes. It was worth it. And he'd do it again, too.

 

As he began to squeeze the trigger, he saw Yunho shake his head, ever so slightly; his lips forming a single word.

 

_Don't_.

 

So Changmin didn't.

 

He felt, through their connected bodies, Park's hand spasm, and knew that the knife was going to turn, any second now.

 

He lifted his finger from the trigger, and gave up, waiting for the twist—

 

And Yunho's boot appeared, slamming down on Park's arm with a sickening crunch.

 

Then, there was nothing but confusion. The world began to vanish, as though there was a vacuum at the back of Changmin's skull, sucking everything away.

 

The outlines of everything in his line of vision began to blur and twist, and the whirlpool sucked him under.

 

Everything went black.

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Yes, I definitely had a concussion,_ he found himself thinking, when he next opened his eyes.

 

'Will you please stop trying to kill yourself for Jung Yunho?' a voice demanded, sharply. 'You Special Forces guys. Jesus fucking Christ. I know that's why I hired you, but _Jesus fucking Christ._ I hired you to be self-sacrificing for _me_ , not...Anyway, whatever. Just...Whatever. Good morning.'

 

'Heechul,' he croaked.

 

Heechul swam into view, scowling. 'You can start with a “thanks for saving my life” for Dr Kim. Hardest work he's ever done to bring you back from the goddamn dead, you son of a bitch. The knife...Good thing it was small and sharp. The wound is clean. Ryeowook said you're lucky to be alive. Any bigger, longer, thicker, wider, different place, you'd be dead. You fucking idiot.'

 

Changmin tried to sit up a little, and found that he could not. Pain shot through him, rippling out from the sutured wound in his chest.

 

His next attempt to move, because he knew Dr Kim was there, was to at least _sign_ out his _Thank you—_ surely that much he could do, out of respect for the man who had saved his life. But even the effort of moving his hands was too much.

 

He felt a cool palm pressing his fingers down, preventing the movement; Dr Kim, looking down at him, shaking his head. So Changmin just said it aloud, instead.

 

'Thank you.'

 

Dr Kim, though looking distinctly fatigued, smiled at him. _It's okay_ , he signed, _I like a challenge._

 

He adjusted the bedframe so that Changmin was propped up and could see the room, which he recognised the interior of the recovery room of the doctor's surgery.

 

Currently, there were four people in it. Heechul, Dr Kim, Changmin, and Yunho, sitting silently in the corner.

 

Yunho, the cop. It was going to take a while to really get to grips with that, although a few things were starting to make a lot more sense, after Heechul's story-time.

 

But more importantly, Yunho was _there._ _He had come back._

 

'It's not bloody okay,' muttered Heechul, darkly, followed by a dry and insincere 'Sorry' when Dr Kim shot him a sharp look.

 

_He's just upset because he likes you,_ Dr Kim signed. _I actually told him he should get rid of you when we found out that you weren't part of the racket, but he's been keeping you around because he likes you._

 

'That's enough, Ryeowook.'

 

Changmin tried to make sense of this. Maybe it was the anaesthetic, or maybe he was failing to understand some of the sign language words. Whatever the reason, it didn't make sense.

 

'What—'

 

Heechul sighed, and shot Ryeowook a sharp look of his own. 'I was hoping to do this later.'

 

_No time like the present,_ Dr Kim signed cheerily, and Heechul rolled his eyes.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Changmin, bemused, decided to make a joke.

 

'Next thing you'll be telling me you're _all_ cops.'

 

He chuckled at his own wit.

 

No one else did, though. Ryeowook and Heechul just exchanged a pointed look.

 

'Oh, fuck no. No. You're not. That was a joke.'

 

Disbelief tugged another laugh out of Changmin, but it was much more brittle than the first.

 

The silence from everyone else continued until Yunho broke it.

 

'Not police, Changmin. They're part of a corruption commission.'

 

It was Changmin's turn to be heavily silent at that, because Yunho was far too grave for it to be anything other than the truth.

 

And it was Heechul's turn to laugh, in that particular way he had: unmalicious but faintly abrasive. 'Yes, well,' he said. 'That. Yeah.'

 

Changmin was still struggling, like a particularly strong swimmer refusing to believe that their skill could not save them from an undercurrent. 'But you're a...a...'

 

'Pimp?' Heechul supplied, 'Among other things? Yes, I know.'

 

'And it's been...'

 

'Oh, I don't even know, anymore. How many years has it been, Ryeowook?'

 

 _Eight,_ came the signed reply.

 

'Then is he—Dr Kim, are you—'

 

'Ryeowook really cannot speak. And he is really a doctor. A military surgeon, originally, until an incident required him to retire from the field. And I was in intelligence until we were recruited for the commission and assigned here.'

 

Changmin heard himself release a short, hard noise—the kind of noise people made when they got winded by a particularly high-impact blow.

 

'I couldn't exactly tell you, Changmin. It wouldn't have been a very good undercover job if I had. Of course, it would have made some things easier, and it's not that I didn't trust you. After I was sure you weren't in on the racket, that is. But overall you would have been much more of a liability.'

 

'What—I—'

 

Heechul sighed, and pulled up a chair. 'It's a very long story, Changmin. Let me just give you the reader's digest, and you can ask questions later.

 

'The Choi family has been known to authorities for many years. They've got fingers in a lot of pies. So we were sent down here— _I_ was sent down here to develop and manage assets and information. And if I could make that a part of my cover story, obviously so much the better. Hence my business, which really was incredibly useful.

 

'Anyway, for a while there was a string of mysterious incidents from Mokpo to Busan. Our intelligence was limited. All we knew was that there were factions of the police and factions of the military running import-export with military hardware. Very annoying, very costly to the state, very lucrative for whoever was running the racket, very unprincipled, and very protected. Obviously there were bureaucrats and politicians involved. It had to be a big operation with a lot of tentacles, or it wouldn't have been able to operate so smoothly and successfully. So we were based here to keep an eye on things, because the racket didn't appear to be running in Gwangju. It's not a port city. But certain components of the actual police force started wising up; officers started to go missing. Like Jung Yunho's terrible death. Not that he died properly, but everybody except the people trying to kill him thought he did. Us included. We heard he died. The rumour was he'd been a part of it. We didn't know what was true. We just knew that something was definitely up. And even though it was hush-hush, some people within the military and the police force did notice, too. Changes were eventually made. Security around the port cities was tightened up. We figured that at some point the racket would make a move inland and try to develop alternative methods of storing and transport.

 

'So we were set up here, waiting.

 

'Then you turned up, Changmin, and to start with we were almost certain that you were the agent they had sent to make contact with the Choi family. And you know what they say about keeping your enemies close. So when I hired you, to be honest, I thought we were playing each other. I thought you would be using my business as a platform for yours with them. Only it turned out that you really _had_ left Special Forces of your own volition. I thought that you had just “left”, you know; that you were still actually a part of Special Forces on paper, which was itself a front for your involvement in the racket. But it turned out that you weren't just using a faked resignation as a front, and...well, you did a damn good job of protecting my assets. So I kept you.'

 

Heechul held Changmin's gaze the whole time he spoke, and paused to study him closely before he continued.

 

'Then there was the incident in the bar, and after that, it got complicated.

 

'An attempt on the life of a bartender—who _does_ that? And why did he seem so familiar?

 

'I worked it out, but things had already gotten out of hand.

 

'I wanted to use Yunho to draw them out.' He glanced at Yunho, his clever dark eyes apologetic. 'I am genuinely sorry for that. But I think you of all people understand the magnitude of what we are dealing with.'

 

Turning back to Changmin, he continued: 'I didn't expect my right-hand man to go rogue. Don't get me wrong—you did a great job of whisking Yunho out of danger. It was just...counterproductive for me.'

 

'I—I didn't know,' Changmin muttered. He felt strangely abashed, now, before Heechul. He'd always kind of dismissed the eccentric man as a self-interested criminal. Intelligent and reasonable, and easy enough to work for, and a force he would rather not reckon with, but most definitely a criminal.

 

To have been fooled so well and for so long made his head spin.

 

Heechul smiled at him. It was a benign smile; almost gentle. 'You were doing what you had to, Changmin. You were acting based on what you thought was right. We all want to protect that which is important to us.'

 

Heechul cast a sidelong glance at Yunho, and Yunho, who had been looking between Changmin and Heechul, coloured and looked at the floor.

 

'Anyway. What's done is done, and we've made it through to the other side. A few people who deserve far greater punishment will probably only get jail time, but it's a start. And my work here has taught me a thing or two that might help extend their sentences, although Kim Heechul might just have to spend a little bit of time in prison himself so that he can come back here and keep his post in Gwangju. I don't know yet.

 

'More to the point...I have to decide what to do with the two of you. I _don't_ want either of you running around Korea anymore. Not that I don't value our friendship or anything, but no matter which Kim Heechul I end up being, I don't want either of you dropping in the middle of my business again.'

 

He grinned, leaned back in his chair and looked to Dr Kim, signing something that Changmin couldn't quite see or understand.

 

After a moment, the response was a single word.

 

_Spain._

 

'Good idea. How do you boys feel about a long holiday?'

 


	4. Chapter 4

'Spain?' Changmin echoed, momentarily forgetting his injury and attempting to rise again.

 

Pain knifed through him, and he flinched and recoiled.

 

Heechul shrugged. 'Unless there's somewhere you'd prefer. Spain is good.'

 

Changmin considered it for a moment.

 

Nothing tied him here, to South Korea. He had lived a life much longer than his actual years in this country, he thought. _For_ this country. For all the good it had done him. He had learned many things, but  his life had been a cold one. It had not given him many chances to be kind—much less in love.

 

His gaze drifted to Yunho's beautiful face, which was awkward and weary. The big man nursed his slung arm carefully and slouched in the corner, still staring at the floor. Changmin experienced an irrational desire to have him closer. He wanted him near. He wanted to hold one of his large hands.

 

_I want to be with you._

 

It was the first time in his life Changmin had wanted something for himself.

 

He still had no satisfying explanation for the depth or intensity of feeling he had for Yunho. He was not even sure that Yunho liked it, or whether the feeling was mutual, or whether or not he would accept it.

 

On the other hand, in the end, Yunho _had_ come back to him. 

 

That must mean something.

 

'I don't speak Spanish,' he muttered, to Heechul, though his eyes lingered on Yunho.

 

His mind, without his permission, invented a sleepy sun-drenched beachside Spanish town. He imagined it so vividly that he could hear the sea, and smell the salt in the air; feel the grit of sand under his body, and the warmth of Yunho at his side.

 

'We both know you learn fast.'

 

'What—what would I do there?'

 

Heechul shrugged. 'Start by recovering. I can set you up, for a time. And it's not like you don't have your own small fortune.' He glanced down at his watch, and then at Dr Kim. 'We have something to do, gentlemen. If you could stay here and stop nearly getting yourselves killed rescuing each other for at least half a day, that would be grand.'

 

'Sir,' said Changmin, reflexively, and Heechul scowled at him.

 

'No, Changmin. No more of that. You're fired, son, alright? Hyung will do, from now on. No -nim, either. Just hyung.'

 

He and Dr Kim then left, leaving Changmin and Yunho alone with a silence that felt like it stretched on for centuries.

 

It took Changmin a full ten minutes to build up the courage to break it, and even then, all he could say, in an uncharacteristically small voice, was 'Thank you.'

 

Yunho's head jerked up, as though he had fallen asleep, or forgotten Changmin was there.

 

'What for?'

 

Changmin's voice went even softer, and he hated himself for it. What was he, a high school student talking to his crush? 'For coming back. I didn't think you would.'

 

It might have been a trick of the light, but Yunho's cheeks seemed, once again, to darken slightly. 'It's like I said before. I tried to leave, but I—it wasn't right. You—you—you always came to me, and I—it wasn't right to leave you to a fate that was meant for me.'

 

'You don't believe in fate, do you?'

 

Yunho smiled wryly, and shrugged with his undamaged shoulder. 'Yeah. I kind of...I do, actually. I mean—Well, I thought I knew what it was. But after—after all of—of _this,_ I...I don't know.'

 

He traced a line on the floor with his boot.

 

'I guess I'm starting to think that maybe my...my...my fate might have something...something to do with you.'

 

There was a weird lump in Changmin's throat.

 

He swallowed it down.

 

'Yunho, come closer to me.'

 

Yunho glanced up again, a glut of emotions crossing his face.

 

He picked up his chair with his good hand, and brought it to Changmin's bedside.

 

When his eyes settled on Changmin's chest, the emotions coalesced into guilt.

 

'Why did you do it, Changmin?'

 

'Because I wanted to, Yunho. Because he was going to kill you, and I didn't want you to die.'

 

A frown dug a trench between Yunho's eyebrows. 'That's not a reason. I—'

 

Changmin did not plan to interrupt, but the words tumbled awkwardly from his mouth before he could stop them.

 

'Because I love you.'

 

The frown disappeared, replaced by open-mouthed shock that smoothed Yunho's features entirely.

 

The silence was deafening but for Changmin's heartbeat, which rattled his ribcage and shook his field of vision.

 

Slowly, moisture welled in the corners of Yunho's wide eyes.

 

A single tear escaped, trickling its way over one high cheekbone and down across the cheek to the sharp edge of his jawline.

 

'Yunho,' said Changmin, before his courage deserted him entirely, 'Will you come to Spain with me?'

 

Yunho closed his eyes, and a second tear followed the first. But he nodded, and it was all the answer Changmin needed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Seven months later_

 

They had been kept in Korea under Dr Kim's careful supervision while visas and accommodation were arranged—just long enough for a crash course in Spanish before, about a month later, they took a one-way trip to Ribadesella, Asturias, Spain: a place remarkably close to the sleepy coastal town of Changmin's delirium.

 

Changmin and Yunho had both cultivated suspicion as their second nature, and it was difficult to let it go. But whether it was the sun, or the gentleness of the place, or simply their new freedom, the darkness seemed to fall away from them both. They kept only their caution, though they might never need it again—The community was welcoming and kind, and they committed themselves to it and its safety, and learning about the people and their ways. Language was still occasionally a barrier, but Changmin had technical linguistic skills, and Yunho had people skills, and with their powers combined, they managed well.  


 

Between the two of them, the learning was deeper still. A small Spanish community was an entirely new culture and language; by contrast, Changmin and Yunho had limited but dangerous and tangled knowledge of one another. It was difficult to learn to be tender and trust one another as each unravelled the knots in his own psyche. But in spite of the violent start to their relationship, as time went on, they found themselves linked by intimacy and affection instead of fear and pain, and learned to find strength in one another instead of only their fiercely independent selves.

 

They found their places in the local economy after they began a small sports and fitness business: teaching rock-climbing, and guiding people up the nearby cliffs, and on tours of the local caves, and giving classes in martial arts from a purpose-built dojo in their home.

 

Every day, they would run along the beach and up to the lookout, and this was where they sat this morning, watching the sun rise. Parts of it, anyway: with the exception of the pink glow of the horizon, it was an overcast day, and banks of cloud covered most of the sky. There were rents in these billowing sheets of grey, and it was through those cracks that the sun came blazing through, as though the entire sky was made of liquid gold.

 

The clouds kept the heat in, in this weather, so they'd both stripped off for the run up the rocks; their shirts back down on the beach, bright spots of white and blue on the upturned belly of a boat near their house; exposing the scars on the sweat-saturated skin of their upper bodies.

 

Changmin's stab-wound, being relatively recent, was still his darkest scar.

 

He felt Yunho's eyes on it now, and turned towards his lover to catch his eye. Holding his gaze, he reached out to trace the jagged mark on Yunho's cheek before running tender fingers through his rumpled bed-hair. It was nothing like it had once been, but it was longer again; a shaggy mess; some of the lion's pride restored.

 

Yunho smiled, and lifted a hand of his own in gentle symmetry, to brush Changmin's fringe back out of his eyes.

 

The natural world clearly found the moment unbearable, because at that moment, there was an ominous rumble of thunder, and a cold downpour fell on them like a solid block of water.

 


	5. Chapter 5

'That's nature telling you to cool down, hotshot, and stop staring at my boobs,' said Changmin, smirking, into Yunho's ear.

 

'Or nature telling us to get all wet,' Yunho murmured back, and Changmin shivered. Yunho's voice had that undertone which sounded like sex. Rich. Textured. Heavy. His lips were soft as they brushed Changmin's ear, but his jawline prickled. The lust spread in waves from a low point in Changmin's stomach; concentric circles pushing through him; saturating him within, while the rain soaked him without.

 

He pulled back hastily, but there was no hiding the goosebumps coursing over his skin. 'Home?' Pitch slightly higher than usual, and his intonation rising, marking the question as a self-conscious one.

 

He needn't have worried; Yunho nodded, his teeth catching his lower lip. He pushed himself quickly to his feet, holding out a hand, which Changmin ignored. Instead, with adolescent mischief, he grabbed Yunho by the weak spot behind the knee, springing to his feet in a sudden rush of march-hare energy.

 

'Race you!' he shouted, and then turned and ran.

 

They made it to their front door just as quickly as the narrow paths down the headland would allow. Changmin fumbled with the keys in his desperation, and lost valuable time; Yunho caught up and joined him under the alcove, his body pressing much too close until Changmin finally won his battle with the lock.

 

Changmin pushed through the door and performed the complex ballet of kicking off his shoes—a freak event, betraying his lust. Usually, he would sit, and untie his laces properly, for which Yunho mocked him without mercy.

 

Changmin turned, searching for the laughter and the mockery and the heat. Yunho met him, face-to-face: he had followed too closely, and it was only through good fortune that they did not collide; scant millimetres from smashing noses; hungry lips only a breath away—Yes, there was Yunho, Yunho who was so...so...so _much, too_ much, his broad shoulders and chest already stripped naked again, and wet, and glistening, the shirt hanging limp and dripping from his hand.

 

Changmin plucked it from his grip and tossed it back towards the door, scolding instinctively. 'Don't drip on the carpet.'

 

Yunho's answering smile was feral.

 

'I'll remind you you said that later,' he said.

 

Changmin fully intended to retort. The sharp ice of his words was on the tip of his tongue, but in the end amounted to nothing, because Yunho stepped forward and trapped his lips, and the only sound he could make was a moan.

 

Pressed back by the moving mass of muscle and sinew, Changmin stumbled and landed heavily on the couch, which was, by some miracle, sturdy enough for the impact of two grown men falling over themselves.

 

Changmin was gone. The moment Yunho's mouth pressed against his, he was gone, sunk straight under the rising tide that he had kept at bay all the way home.

 

Yunho knew. His hands were already on the hem of Changmin's sopping shirt, his fingers hard and clumsy against his stomach; careless and urgent as he yanked on the fabric. The damp material showed more resistance to Yunho than Changmin had been able to, but even then, it could not resist for long. The sound of wet cloth tearing was an exclamation point; a short, sharp note quickly fading back into the steady thrum of the rain on the roof.

 

Yunho's sigh of satisfaction was low and resonant. Changmin felt it more than he heard it; that, and the low rumble which followed. Not thunder, but Yunho, his desire emerging in a growl, pulled up short by a sudden realisation: 'Lube.'

 

Changmin whined with frustration. 'Don't need it,' he muttered, 'Don't want it. Want you.'

 

Yunho covered his mouth with a smile, leaning forward to whisper, 'Humour me. Don't want to hear you scream for any other reason than I'm so far up inside you it forces your voice out.'

 

Changmin's protest dissolved in his mouth.

 

'Hurry up, then,' he said, swallowing thickly.

 

Yunho kissed his forehead and pulled away. 'I love you,' he said, and then disappeared, leaving Changmin lying there, feeling raw and disoriented.

 

For a little while after they had come here, Changmin had been deeply afraid that Yunho did not love him—that he had come with him, but only out of a lingering sense of guilt or obligation. But every now and then, Yunho would say those precious little words, and every time, Changmin was stunned senseless, shocked to the core by how much they meant to him, given freely, and grateful and relieved he had had the courage to let go, because it was the fact that he _had_ let go, that he had ultimately accepted that he would die for Yunho, and honestly and sincerely given up on any hope of a reciprocated love which had freed them both enough to fall in love. 

 

Properly.

 

And Spain, of course.

 

Spain had given him another chance.

 

It had given both of them another chance. Yunho...When Changmin had first met Yunho, he had been cold. Cold, and hard, and brittle. And Changmin's torch had burned too bright. He'd wanted everything; Yunho gave nothing. A recipe for disaster. 

 

They were even, now, because Changmin had realised his mistake, and his fear. He had learned to stand back, and, under the Spanish sun, where his life was not in constant jeopardy, Yunho had thawed. Slowly. Slowly, he allowed himself to find pleasure in living, instead of consigning himself to indifference in an attempt to make it easier to die.

 

So it was that Changmin, whose torch for Yunho had burned too brightly, overcame his fear of abandonment, and stepped back, and, instead of demanding _everything_ , settled for a little, and learned that a little was more than enough. His ardency was cooled by the summer rains and sea breezes, and he tried to learn to make his love a soft, warm, safe hearth for Yunho to sit beside, instead of what it had been before—a blaze, threatening to engulf the very thing it tried to light.

 

 

 

Now, in a small, whitewashed Spanish house, Changmin now clung to Yunho in a wholly different way. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders and his legs around his waist; panting and moaning and sinking his teeth into Yunho's shoulder as he entered him. Closed his eyes and let himself be filled. Somewhere, off in the distance, far away from where he placed all of his concentration, on Yunho— _Yunho—_ he could hear his own voice, coaxing and pleading and invoking Yunho's name, over and over.

 

Yunho held on just as tightly, his fingers digging into Changmin's skin and pulling him close as he thrust deeper and deeper inside him, melding them together, body and soul, pushing and pushing and pushing right up until Changmin saw only light, and felt only the white heat of Yunho coming deep inside of him, and heard his own voice saying Yunho's name again, but slowly, and with greater reverence, as his hands stroked the sweat-slicked skin of Yunho's back.

 

  


 

 

Yunho dozed against his chest, afterwards, and Changmin felt the unmistakeable stirring of a deep-seated desire to treasure and protect that would never really go away.

 

The words did not ask his permission: they jumped out, determined to be heard. 

 

'Marry me.'

 

It was more of a command than a request, really. Certain military habits refused to go away.

 

It also shattered the peace in a way that only violence had done, before: Yunho shot upright, staring at Changmin with wild, wide eyes, and for a horrifying moment, Changmin thought that perhaps those careless words would bring everything undone.

 

Yunho's eyes shone.

 

They were too bright.

 

Glassy.

 

'Did...did you just...'

 

'Y-yes.'

 

'Oh.' Yunho made a visible effort to settle himself. 'Ah.'

 

He continued to stare, as though waiting for Changmin to backpedal, but Changmin did not. Would not. Could not. He steeled himself against his own weakness, and willed Yunho to understand that it was different now.

 

Yunho broke the silence again. 'Do...do you mean it?' he asked, brow furrowing slightly.

 

'Do you want me to get down on my knee?'

 

'Yes!' said Yunho, but as a mindless reflex, rather than an answer to the question, before realising what he'd said; 'I mean, no.'

 

A sly smile.

 

'Maybe later.'

 

Changmin scoffed, and would have shoved him but for the preemptive defensive hands taking hold of his wrists, and Yunho giving him a softer glance before his eyes dropped away.

 

'Can you...can you say it again, Min? Ask me again.'

 

Embarrassed. He was embarrassed.

 

That made two of them, then.

 

Changmin, making no attempt to free his wrists, heaved in a breath.

 

'Yunho, will you marry me?'

 

The silence that followed was almost unbearable.

 

Yunho's eyes. He loved Yunho's eyes, but he hated them, too. The emotions were so obviously present, but so utterly indecipherable.

 

As he watched, they went from glassy-bright to smoky. Softening, and filling with something tender, like the mists that sometimes rolled in over the deep, dark waters of the bay.

 

He asked, one final time, in a whisper. 'Marry me?'

 

'Yes, Changmin. Yes, I will.'


End file.
